A soft breeze gently rustlesthe golden leaves that have fallenscattered about,below the twisted grey branchesof the treefrom which we used to swing.

Our names, carved by the handof this tenderhearted young boy,still echo love,of youth and of each other.

I now take your hand in mine,and beneath the shadow of this tree,a testament and reminder of our love,I ask that we never allow it to fadeinto the grayness of those limbsor to dry and crumble like the leavesthat have fallen to the ground.

But that we allow it to growever upward, and to be strong,as the trunk of the great tree itselfthat bears the evidence of this great love,which beneath its arms began.